


Objective

by velocirapture



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Nervousness, POV Second Person, Power Dynamics, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1976355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocirapture/pseuds/velocirapture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An young FBI agent arrives at Hannibal's office door on an assignment from Jack. She has to fight to keep her personal interest in the man out of the equation in favor of completing her task. Hannibal is, as always, well aware of what is going on, on all fronts, and uses physical manipulation as a 'get out of jail free' card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objective

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely indulgent fic that I wrote as part of a multi-fic gift for a friend over a year ago (mid-season one). I edited it slightly, but haven't beta'd it or anything. I just wanted to get a work up on here since I finally made an account, as I start working on my first multi-chapter actual-plot fic. Perhaps someone out there will enjoy it!

     It's not your first time being in a therapist's waiting room. It is the first time you are dressed to the nines, slightly nervous, and practicing lines in your head before an appointment. It is the first time you are not a patient in this situation. You are here for bigger reasons, and this man is a large fish to fry. This could be dangerous. You fidget. It is 7:59pm.

     A lengthy minute passes.

     The heavy door opens.  
  
     "Ms. Schulte?" Your eyes flick up the body of Dr. Lecter to land, slightly questioning, on his eyes. "Please, come in," he motions. You pretend that you're ignoring the slightly predatory feeling you're getting from his body language and waltz into the study. His gentle gaze on your back has the searing weight of unspoken correspondence - and power. You're not going to acknowledge it. You stalk to the back bookshelf, and promptly turn on your heel to face him, radiating defiance and strength and - underneath it all - latent desire. You're warm. You're focused. These are not pleasant feelings to have simultaneously raging within one body.  
  
     All of this, he sees. All of this, he knows. You know this as well.  
  
     "Dr. Lecter," you begin. His face somehow grins without breaking countenance, as he takes a lengthy step toward you. You curse having taken your time walking to the complete opposite side of the room, for it has left you no escape route. You choose, instead, to stand your ground against the wall. "You and I both know why I am here today."  
  
     "Yes. I am aware of your reasons for being in this room today, Ms. Schulte," he replies smoothly, laced with double entendre, never breaking his steady movement toward you, never changing face.  
  
     "Then you are aware of the trouble you are in for your actions, and non-actions," you state confidently, although the thought of 'he can smell your fear' crosses your mind as he crosses the carpet. Why had Jack assigned you to this task so new to the job? So, comparatively, untrained? "You are supposed to be held to extremely high standards in your position, sir," you curse yourself for your polite manner when you see something unrecognizable flicker across the doctor's face at your terminology, "and unfortunately -"  
  
     "You believe I have not met these standards." It was not a question, and he was three feet away when he paused. The elegance in his previous saunter was admirable, yes, but also slightly nerve-wracking. As well as other results your body was warmly reminding you of. The doctor's stance was one of dominance, although he was awaiting your response before continuing.  
  
     "No, sir. We do not."  
  
     "I am deeply disappointed to hear that, Ms. Schulte." He closed the short distance between the two of you and you backed into the shelf defensively. His arm lashed out an inch from your neck in order to catch a book knocked into a precarious position by your antics. He slides it back into place and leaves his palm resting on the spine of the book. You can feel his wrist against the side of your neck. He knows this. You know that he knows this. Your breathing has quickened, although you are determined to be steadfast and professional. "I must disagree," he says softly, as his eyes trace from your shoulder, up your neck, lingering on your lips, and moving up to your slightly hazy gaze.

     He slides his other arm around your waist, pressing you back against the shelves. Your breath catches. He knows exactly what he is doing to you, and exactly why. You know this as well. He is taking advantage and it's against everything you believe and you can feel the warmth of his body through the suit and you're caught between the doctor and the wall and he's still staring into your eyes, waiting, watching, and knowing - knowing all the while, - and then, as he moves the hand from the side of your neck and runs his fingers softly through your head, pushing your head to the right, pushing his weight against you, and your eyes roll back for just a split second - but that is all the submission Hannibal needs - as he then tightens his grip round your waist, grasps your hair, and lowers his lips to the softest spot on your exposed neck, sinking his teeth in with a viciously gentle, deliciously firm bite.  
  
     You let out a whimpering noise that may as well have been, "I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter. You're correct. I have found no malpractice involving you and our FBI agents in your care. I will be on my way now, my apologies for your time."

     The whine may as well have been, but as Hannibal began to suck your skin up within the bite, running his tongue over the bit of flesh caught between his teeth, your sharp intake of breath and quick release of it was nothing but an audible compliance. He knew this. You knew this. As always, Dr. Lecter's plan had exactly the effect he had intended.


End file.
